


Burning the Night

by MeltingPenguins (lilmaibe)



Series: Devil's Dozen [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Crowley is fast asleep, Don’t copy to another site, Gen, Historical, Historical Inaccuracy, M/M, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-23
Updated: 2019-11-09
Packaged: 2020-07-11 17:34:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19931860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilmaibe/pseuds/MeltingPenguins
Summary: Hell has made a mistake, rendering a human uncollectable. And with Crowley taking his decade long nap, Ligur is tasked to hunt down the human by hand.Meanwhile Aziraphale is tasked with finding said human, and save their mortal soul.As the paths of Heaven and Hell cross, Aziraphale and Ligur call a truce, as they find they are hunting none other than Jack the Ripper.---This is a tie-in to 'A Nice and Accurate Place to Visit', detailing the events of the account Aziraphale gave to Crowley about how he met Ligur before. This story also includes certain... encounters... our bookish angel left out... accidentally.





	1. The Prologue

**PROLOGUE**

_In which we see The Lord of the Flies in a dress,_

_Crowley takes a nap, Ligur gets a task_

_and_

_Uriel technically steals a book_

"I like'm. I'll keep them for a while," said Dagon, strolling through the foggy streets of Mayfair alongside Beelzebub, and almost admiringly tugging on their clothes.

Beelzebub, in response, gave a dismissive shrug. "They do szuit you."

"Unhappy with your own choice?"

Beelzebub, who felt drawn to the era's fashion for women, shook her head, nudging the fly on her head (cunningly disguised as an elaborate hat) into place. "Only with the colour."

"Ah, but orange is just yer colour, and human women these days only wear black when they be mourning."

Beelzebub made a face and her parasol connected painfully with Dagon' shin all accidentally.

Dagon grinned, too wide and with too many, too pointy teeth.

"Gotta blend in, don't we?" They offered their arm. "At least till we find what happened to the little snake."

Beelzebub nodded.

"He better be in deep trouble already to jusztify not reszponding to the szummonsz." She scanned the houses around them. "Isz thisz the place?"

Dagon reached into their overcoat and produced a small notebook.

"Yup. Fancy. Shall I put that down as 'greed' or 'pride'?"

Beelzebub pondered.

"Neither till we..." The Lord of the Flies cocked her head. "It looksz abandoned."

Dagon followed Beelzebub's gaze to the windows.

The curtains were drawn and the shutters closed. There was no aura of life inside the house that'd have indicated busy servants, either.

Dagon furrowed their brows. "That's odd... Shall we head in?"

Beelzebub cast a quick glance around. Even if there were humans nearby, the fog provided an excellent cover.

"Let'sz. Something tellsz me Crowley isz at home," she said darkly, and Dagon miracled the door to open.

The inside of Crowley's townhouse was gloomy and dusty, which already earned him a slight plus with Beelzebub and Dagon.* Everything was perfectly tidied up, as if Crowley had merely gone for a vacation.

*The arsenic in the wallpapers earned him an even bigger one, at least until about 30 years later when Hell learned that that was pretty much standard at the time.

"Maybe that angel did him in for good," Dagon mused, peeking into the drawing room.

"Oh szweet Lucifer, I hope not." Beelzebub shook herself. "That would mean we would have to thank him."

Dagon flashed her a toothy grin and sniffed the air. "He's here."

"Is he now?"

"Aye." Dagon pointed up. "Somewhere upstairs."

"He better be dead."

Crowley wasn't, much to Beelzebub's dismay. What he was, was fast asleep, snoring away without a care in the world.

"You gotta be kiddin'..." Dagon began upon entering the room.

Beelzebub's grip on her parasol tightened.

"When was the laszt time we heard from him again?"

Dagon checked their notes.

"1862," they said. "I quote 'Had an absolutely nasty encounter with an angel. Think it's Heaven's fieldagent again. Will need some time to reincinerate.'" Dagon frowned. "I think he means 'reinvigorate'. Though 'm all for setting him on fire..."

Beelzebub nodded stoically, and approached the bed.

To find herself running into a pretty strong barrier.

"Warding spellsz?" She snarled, glaring at Crowley's sleeping form. The snarl faded into an exhausted groan. "I don't have time for thisz."

She pinched the bridge of her nose. "Dagon, mark thisz down."

"Yer not goin' to bring the spells down?"

"I'm not in the mood to waszte my energy on thisz. Crowley'sz in for szomething onsze he wakesz."

Dagon beamed.

"Well, there's something t'look forward to." They scribbled into their notebook. "So what now? We can't have that wanker running 'round like this."

Beelzebub drew a sharp breath.

"Who'sz available?"

"Ligur. But he hasn't been up here for decades."

Beelzebub waved them off.

"He learnst faszt." She held out her hand. "Give me szomething to write with."

Dagon obliged.

"Gonna leave a note for the little snake?"

"Yes. Szpoiling hisz nap'sz the leaszt I can do. What'sz today again?"

"The third of September, 1888."

With a bitter glare Beelzebub placed the note on the bedside table, and she and Dagon vanished.

On the bed, Crowley stirred in his sleep, wrinkling his nose at the smell of sulphur and dead fish.

~⧖~

"London?" Ligur was, by all means, astonished. "Last time I was there I set the city on fire." He smiled fondly. "Wot 'appened t' the little snake? Ain't that his job?"

"He's... hibernatin'," said Dagon, legs dangling from the broken cart that was very much blocking the narrow alleyway in Hell.

Ligur blew a raspberry.

"The lil' shit."

"My sentiments exactly."

With a long frown, Ligur rubbed his chin. "I dun think this' a good idea. That's really more Hastur's thing. He's already upstairs, I reckon."

"Yeah, but he's on his way to Pennsylvania, setting something up, an' this is rather urgent."

Another frown followed.

"Really that urgent?"

"You seem keen on telling the Master that one o' the lower demons got themself tricked into making a human untouchable, and that yer not in the mood for fixin' it."

Ligur grimaced, his eyes and the chameleon shifting to a despairing dark blue.

"Keen's really not the word t'use here," he said. "But... again, ain't been upstairs for 'bout 200 years now. I'm good at blendin' in, but that's beyond me talents."

Dagon grinned toothily.

"Well, find a human and get them t' be yer guide then."

"Dagon, really. Who in London would be that naive and kind-hearted at the same time?"

~⧖~

"We're closed. Terribly sorry." Aziraphale called, trying to balance a stack of books that needed some urgent care for their covers. Which he was more than eager to provide.

"I'm aware," a voice called back, and Aziraphale looked as if he just ate the sourest lemon on Earth. He slowly put the books down, pulled together all of his good will, and spun around.

"Gabriel!" Aziraphale greeted, a little too cheerful, the smile not reaching his eyes. It didn't even reach far enough to show his canines. "And Uriel, too. What brings you here?"

"Rather urgent business, I would say," said Gabriel, clapping his hands, while Uriel looked around the shop with what, to Aziraphale's mild surprise, looked like admiration.

"It's... not another call for me back to Heaven, is it?" Aziraphale said, folding his hands in defensive determination. "It's once again a most unfavourable..."

Gabriel raised his hand.

"None of that," he said.

"We'd like you to find a human," Uriel added, leafing carefully through a fresh copy of Levy's 'The Romance of a Shop'."

"A human?" Aziraphale blinked, relaxing a little. "I presume you are talking about a very special human."

"Brilliant as always." Gabriel smiled with honest and eager pride. "Very special indeed."

Aziraphale removed his glasses.

"Shouldn't Heaven be better equipped to locate any given human at all time."

"Yes," said Uriel, stepping over, book still in hand. "But not under these circumstances."

"Circumstances?" said Aziraphale.

"You see," Gabriel began, "this particular human made a contract with," he pointed down meaningfully, "the opposition."

"Uh-huh?"

"Yes. And it'd seem this human made a right fool out of them somehow. Most remarkable."

Aziraphale cocked his head. "That's... interesting, but I don't understand why or how my assistance would be required."

"This human," said Uriel, "seems to have tricked Hell into it becoming impossible for Downstairs to get a hold of them. And that is all we know.

"Oh, and that they are in London," Gabriel added. "Now, as we know nothing about this human other than those things..."

Aziraphale sighed.

"Gabriel, please, there are thousands of people out there. And I don't even know what you want me to do."

Gabriel clapped him on the shoulder.

"I'm positive you'll be able to locate this human. And save their soul."

"Save their...?" Aziraphale sighed. "Gabriel, really, I appreciate your trust in me, but what you are asking is a task... It is rather a handful. Or two. I... I would need help."

"We can't deploy anyone at this time," said Uriel.

"But," said Gabriel, "I would say you should be able to find someone in London to assist you."

Aziraphale involuntarily thought of Crowley. He was still angry about their last encounter, but that he hadn't heard of the demon since was getting concerning.

"I am not sure involving a human in this would be wise. If Hell is hunting this human..."

"Oh, you are thinking about their fieldagent," Gabriel ventured. Aziraphale nodded.

"You've fared well against him, Aziraphale, most commendable. And, I have most pleasing news for you about him."

Aziraphale felt his heart sink at the tone.

"Do... do you?"

"Yes, it would seem he went missing about two decades ago. We tried looking into his activities and he's gone off the map."

"Oh, well..."

"It's a shame you apparently had nothing to do with it." Uriel smiled mischievously.

"Well, I... I have to do good, haven't I?" Aziraphale managed, fiddling with his watch chain nervously. "As much _Good_ as getting rid of such foul fiend would be, I concentrated on other deeds than hunting a demon."

Gabriel nodded.

"Good thinking. Well, in the case that he has merely gone into hiding and might surface, I'd suggest you find a partner who'd be likely to despise him with all their heart as well as having it, their heart that is, with the cause. You have permission to do what it takes to find the human Hell is after."

Aziraphale smiled, albeit lopsided.

"Oh, great... I... I'll see what I can do."


	2. Chapter 2

~⧖~

London had been burning the last time he'd seen it, and at first Ligur got the impression that not too much had changed.

But the thick clouds covering the streets weren't smoke from burning buildings, but fog mixed with the smoke of countless little fires burning for humans to huddle around and keep warm.

Carriages and carts made their way over cobblestone streets and rough brickwork, the people of the night were making their way back to where they'd sleep just as the regular workers set out to wherever they earned their daily bread.

Ligur ducked, albeit unseen under the staff of some fellow going around knocking on people' windows. He mused about the oddness of it, for a moment, before pondering the task at hand again.

His plan was simple.

Step One: Stay hidden in the shadows - London had plenty of those - and get a sense of what had changed. Clothes, classes, manners, speech, all those odds and ends he'd need to blend into the crowd in a far less literal sense than what he was doing right now.

Step Two: Find some mortal gullible enough to help him around and find...

And that was the issue with Step Three. No one in Hell had an idea who they were looking for. The lower demon who messed that contract up...

Ligur got a little wistful that he couldn't be there to see to their punishment.

Ah well, wouldn't be much fun without Hastur anyway.

He took a deep breath and leaned against the wall near a cart selling something roasted. Chestnuts, he wagered.

He licked his lips involuntarily.

It was early morning now, and from what Ligur could see of the sky, it would rain sooner or later. He frowned.

London had certainly gotten bigger since he'd burned it down. More crowded too. And all he knew about the mortal he was meant to retrieve was that the clever bastard dwelled somewhere amongst the mass of humans.

But that was it. No name... not even their sins.

It was ridiculous.

Ligur groaned upon finally coming to terms with the fact that he'd have to stay topsides for a while.

Bless Crowley. Bless him with an incense swivel.

Muttering angrily Ligur waved his hand, making a couple of workers in the houses around wonder if it wouldn't be better to sleep in today.

Ah, to somewhere with it all.

He pushed himself off the wall and turned his step towards Mayfair.

He'd have to wake the little snake up... Much to their mutual dismay, most likely.

Unless a better option would present itself anytime soon - and a part of him hoped it would.

~⧖~

It was absurd. Laughable. Outright preposterous and nonsensical. And Aziraphale hated every inch of his being for doing it anyway.

He hadn't talked to Crowley in over two decades. Which wasn't much to either of them, but on account of how they had parted, Aziraphale didn't feel too well with two things:

One was that he was worried for the demon. Crowley had requested Holy Water of him last time they'd seen each other. And when Gabriel had mentioned that Crowley had gone off the map all kinds of worst-case-scenarios had begun dancing merrily around Aziraphale's mind. But after what Crowley had done and said, Aziraphale knew he should not care.

Which clashed a bit with the second thing he didn't feel well with. Despite how thoroughly ruffled Crowley had gotten him, he was on his way to the demon's townhouse. Because what else could he do? Gabriel -Heaven- had tasked him with the impossible.

So impossible that even Gabriel admitted that 'It will be quite a task'.

Aziraphale frowned gently, adjusted his coat and knocked his walking stick against the hansom's roof, signaling the driver to stop.

"I shall walk from here, my good man," he said, got off and paid his fare.

As the vehicle rattled away, Aziraphale took a deep breath and put his chin up.

What he would not do was apologize.

That was on Crowley.

He would be civil, as always, but strict.

Crowley had abused his trust and company in an inexcusable manner, and it was Hell which lost a human.

Heaven knows what the mortal was up to... no, Heaven didn't know, otherwise Aziraphale would not be here now.

God knew. And as usual She wasn't telling.

Another deep breath and the angel strutted toward the townhouse, his determined gait slowing as he got closer.

It looked abandoned.

No... not abandoned. That would not be the right word.

But it was devoid of activity. Had Crowley left the country?

No, out of the question.

Aziraphale knew Crowley well enough to know that if Crowley had left the country he'd have burned all bridges, creating a new life for himself when he came back.

The angel let his gaze wander over the Regency building, shuddering slightly at the snake-eye fanlight above the door.

He only noticed it cause he knew it was there.

He tried again to sense someone.

Crowley _employed_ a man-servant and a cook, to Aziraphale's knowledge, and likewise to Aziraphale's knowledge was the fact that both of them were two damned souls given new bodies.

Crowley had boasted how no one in Hell had even noticed he had done that.

Aziraphale shuddered.

A malicious deed like that should have been a warning to him.

All of Crowley's malicious deeds should have been a warning, come to think.

Now, as it was, the house laid seemingly abandoned.

Except for...

Aziraphale harrumphed bristly.

Crowley.

Hiding, by how faint what he could sense of the foul fiend was, but at home nevertheless.

Aziraphale cast a look around.

It was early morning, which meant the servants of the households around were up and about.

Could he miracle their attention away from himself?

Yes, but....

There was also the door.

To gain access to the townhouse he'd need another little miracle.

He had no real qualms about frivolous miracles, as long as he could provide a not-actually-a-lie-just-not-entirely-the-truth explanation.

Nearly losing one's head, being blown to smithereens and getting accidentally married* can make one become a little more cautious.

* The marriage to a certain Miss Kitty Everleigh lasted from May 1814 to April of the following year, and had come by by a grave misunderstanding and a mistaken identity.

Aziraphale, however, had been a loving husband and partner in the time it lasted and had made sure Miss Kitty would be well off once the bureaucracy had been cleared up. They had been in friendly contact until Miss Kitty's death at the proud age of 87.

Pondering what to do Aziraphale approached the front door.

Maybe he could say he sensed evil and went in to help whatever poor soul was at danger.

Yes, that sounded acceptable. The only issue was, if Heaven were to ask, this would hold the risk of giving away Crowley's abode.

As furious as Aziraphale was with the old serpent, he couldn't stomach the idea of what would happen once Heaven...

He shook his head, hazarded a glance around and pretended to unlock the door.

Inside was a dusty and gloomy scenery Aziraphale would have expected rather from his own book shop than from any of Crowley's dwellings.

He carefully closed the door behind himself and shuffled forward, the floor creaking ominously under his steps.

The angel didn't doubt for a second that Crowley had prepared the floorboards in the name of _aesthetics_.

He slowly ventured up the stairs to where he sensed the old serpent, looking back over his shoulder every other step. He could not shake off the feeling that he was being followed.

Upstairs seemed even dustier and gloomier, heavy wine-red curtains barring out the dim light of day.

The bit of light that managed to creep past them let the shadows dance on the dark, filigree vines of silk and paper wallpaper, making them seem like vile snakes out to strike and bite and strangle.

Aziraphale took a deep breath and, briefly puffing himself up, tightened his grip around his walking stick.

"You cunning old serpent, I know your tricks," he murmured, moving forward. He'd be a fool to say that he wasn't scared.

He inched forward, towards where he sensed Crowley, stopping in front of what he wagered was the bedroom door.

He could still turn around and leave again, he figured. And while that would have helped with his hurt pride, it most certainly would have been detrimental to the task at hand.

It was moments like this in which Aziraphale mused if it was not about time he revealed his identity as part of the Heavenly Host to selected humans and gathered a few more trustworthy - unlike Crowley - acquaintances.

Perhaps it was, but as of now there wasn't the time to find someone. Crowley had to do.

Which was easier said than done. Upon pushing the door open, Aziraphale found the old demon as peacefully asleep as only people with no conscience can sleep.

The second thing Aziraphale noted was the protective spells hanging in the air, forming a protective and impenetrable shield around the bed. It didn't surprise him the slightest that Crowley had taken precautions to not be bothered by anyone or anything in the world.

What did surprise him, mind you, was a note on the bedside table that reeked of Hell.

Gingerly he picked it up, fumbled his reading glasses from his pockets, and read.

He found Beelzebub's message to Crowley to be quite rude, unnecessarily cruel, and over all plain nasty.

For a moment Aziraphale toyed with the idea of getting rid of the note. All in all, Crowley did not deserve such a rude awakening.

But he also didn't deserve the trouble he would undoubtedly get into if he'd have no knowledge of Beelzebub's message.

"An' who are you?"

Aziraphale spun around, staring dumbfounded at the man in the doorway, a shiver running down his spine.

Whoever this was, he was a powerful demon. A demon most certainly out of Aziraphale's league given his current lack of training.

Seeing how the demon shifted into a fighting stance more than probably meant he had already figured he had run into an angel. The twitching tail of the chameleon he had with him added an odd certainty to the thought.

For Aziraphale the important thing now was to keep calm and not to anything stupid.

"How did you get in here?"

Or do something immensely stupid, that should work too.

The other looked baffled, his stance relaxing only slightly.

"The door," he said, undoubtedly doubting the angel's wits a little more than it was commonplace with a demon. "I... used the door."

"Oh." Was the best response Aziraphale could think of.

They stood in silence long enough for the angel to realize how well isolated against sound Crowley's bedroom was.

"Go ahead," the other demon said all of a sudden, and as if that hadn't been enough to throw Aziraphale off on its own, the entirely casual and nonchalant tone certainly did catch him unprepared.

"P-pardon?" Aziraphale managed.

"Yer here t'smite him for good, ain't ya? I won't stop you."

Aziraphale blinked and turned to look at Crowley's sleeping form.

"I..." he turned back, bristled a little and tried to put on the most intimidating tone he was capable off. "You vile fiend, I see you try to divert my attention, scheming to..."

"Oh, piss off wi' that, mate," said the demon and stepped to Aziraphale's side, snipping a finger against the protective spell.

And grinned.

Aziraphale took a surprised step back as the demons eyes and his chameleon changed from a pale green to a lively electric blue.

"Smelled that spell on the stairs already, how's 'bout you."

"Umm..."

The other demon leaned against the bedside table.

"There's no chance of wakin' the little snake up, so spare your breath," he said, casually reading Beelzebub's note. "But congratulations on findin' his home. Gave me a bit o' trouble."

With one swift motion he put the note back down, pushed himself off the table and moved behind Aziraphale.

The angel stiffened.

"Am risking me head here," the demon purred, "but I feel like you didn't even try to get rid of that spell. I wonder why."

"Oh, kindly do not apply such scolding tone to me, you vicious..."

"Ligur."

"Pardon?"

"Me name. Am not in the mood for'n angel's attempts at flirting and flattery."

Aziraphale felt the blood shoot into his cheeks and he spun around, glaring with indignation.

"I... I was most certainly not... I have you know Crowley is a cunning opponent who has proven his viciousness time and time again, thus I..."

Ligur burst out laughing, the chameleon briefly flashing through all colours.

"Oh Satan preserve me," he breathed, wiping away tears. "You are _that_ angel."

' _That_ angel'. Aziraphale couldn't tell why, but that one really stung.

"You... have heard of me then?" he ventured.

Ligur nodded, and casually jabbed a thumb at Crowley.

"Little snake here's alway bemoaning what a tough opponent you are in his reports. Wanna hear me thoughts? The way he's talkin' 'bout you, he's either extremely angry, or full of shit an' jus' exaggerating." Ligur looked at Crowley with an amused and thoughtful grin as if he was musing about a third possibility.

At the same time Aziraphale's feeling of hurt was just increasing. Oh, certainly, he had occasionally painted a much more colourful and exciting picture of Crowley in his own reports, but he knew what Heaven regarded the demon as. And it certainly not such amused disrespect as this other demon was showing towards Crowley now.

Then again, this was Hell. Hell had rarely anything to lose on the grand total, a most dreadful situation its denizens were very well aware of. Aziraphale pondered if he should react to the demon's word appropriately, or if he should dare to take a leap of faith.

Faith in what, however, he couldn't really tell. God was staying out of things like this, and Heaven was convinced of their superiority that the possibility of losing hardly crossed their minds.

Aziraphale shook himself a little, bit back a quick prayer but hoped the Almighty would keep this out of his file and... leapt.

"Oh, should I feel flattered?" he asked.

Ligur seemed astonished at that reaction. Good.

"If y'like, I guess. So. Gonna answer me question?"

This left Aziraphale astonished, bringing both supernatural entities on equal footing. Which, Aziraphale had to admit was a most peculiar feeling. Of course, he was on equal footing with Crowley, even if they rarely saw eye to eye about matters.

At least he had always assumed they had been on equal footing.

But Crowley had shown his true colours, Aziraphale mused, so there was no telling what had been what.

Be it as it is, however, Crowley was Crowley and this other demon was obviously not. Which, Aziraphale had to admit gave him the oddest feelings, and one of them was excitement.

Not that he could tell why.

"Which one?" he then asked, unable to think of a better response.

Ligur rubbed his chin in thought.

"Ah, how about the why ya haven't taken that spell down t'smite him."

Aziraphale nervously tightened his hands around his walking stick.

"It, uh, is a most powerful spell, as you can see. You will most likely not share the following notion on account of me being an angel, but I am no fool. Bringing down a spell such as this requires a sizeable amount of energy and..."

"Yer a cherub, dun gimme that."

Aziraphale stiffened.

"Pardon?"

Ligur had one eye closed, squinting at Aziraphale with the other.

"Funny that. The little snake's always going on how yer a Principality."

Oh. With a heavy exhale Aziraphale's form slumped.

"He's truthful about that. I..."

Ligur inclined his head, intrigued.

"Dun tell me. You got degraded?"

Aziraphale simply nodded, which in turn had Ligur sneer briefly and gaze at the ceiling.

"Could of started wi' jus' takin' away people's rank bit earlier, y'know."

"Excuse me, what do you... oh," Aziraphale shuffled his feet as awkwardly as the situation demanded. " _That_ you mean."

Ligur simply wrinkled his nose.

"Yeah. _That_."

"I'm sorry," said Aziraphale before he could think better of it.

"Dun gimme that. An' in the end 'twas for the best. Couldn't of stomached stayin' wi' yer lot."

"And you are a very powerful demon."

For a moment there was silence. Then Ligur smirked.

"Didn't I tell ya to stop flirting?"

Once more Aziraphale felt the blood shoot into his cheeks, this time mixed with the slightest sensation of anger.

"I... I am most certainly not. I..." he protested before catching on. "Oh you vile..."

"Oh, enough now," Ligur groaned, waving him off. "Stop getting your halo in a twist. Now, if yer not goin' to do anything, you won't object to me leavin', right?"

"Go where your heart, should you have one, carries you."

Ligur blinked slowly. And then, mouth agape, rolled his eyes up as if he were trying to make eye-contact with the chameleon. Which was most likely what he was actually doing.

 _Then_ he burst out laughing.

"Oh, fuck me gently, yer a poet." He cackled. "Yer making me feel sorry for Crowley."

"You are most certainly extremely rude."

"I'm a demon."

Aziraphale said nothing. Not until Ligur turned to go.

"I... I must have you know that I can let you leave, but I can not let you go forth and bring misery and malcontent over the good people of London."

"Tsk, apologies for doin' me _job_ , angel. If it's any comfort to you, I'm in fact doing the opposite. 'M huntin' down one of the buggers."

All kinds of alarm bells went off in Aziraphale's head. A small voice in the back if his head nudged him to voice his idea.

It was amazing that Aziraphale heard it over all the others shouting at him to keep his thoughts to himself.

"It is not, by chance, someone who made himself uncollectable by Hell, is it?"


End file.
